


Wilting

by cuddlesome



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bitterness, Death Wish, Drabble, Flowers, Flowey is miserable, Gen, Post-True Route, Undertale Spoilers, as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:59:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5056585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlesome/pseuds/cuddlesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>put (one) out of (one's) misery<br/>1. Euph. Fig. to kill someone as an act of mercy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wilting

**Author's Note:**

> / skateboards in/ Here is my meager contribution to the Undertale fandom. / does a kick flip and falls on my face/

After all of the monsters left, Flowey stopped going in the sunlight. He refused to go under the sky that taunted him with the constant reminder of the human world. When it rained, he burrowed far underground and retreated to the driest part of the ruins. All of this on top of his lack of desire to live augmented his suffering. Perfect.

Of course he started to wilt at some point, leaves withering and golden petals turning more of a sickly pale yellow, threatening to fall off at any given moment. His stem got weaker and weaker until he drooped over, a shriveled, pathetic little thing that stood apart from the other golden flowers in the ruins that still stood tall in the sunlight. Finally, a look that matched how he felt inside.

He only got to entertain the idea of dying for a few days before Frisk showed up with a watering can. Flowey spat and sneered at them as they approached, contemplating his options of firing a hail of bullets at the watering can or just retreating far, far away so they’d leave him alone. That is, until Frisk started to pour the water over the dirt around his parched roots. The protests died out and all thoughts of attacking left him.

It felt… really good.

Frisk took care to aim the water only at the dirt and not to get any on Flowey’s withered form. Sighing in contentment, Flowey shifted his roots in the ground in an effort to soak up all of it.

Flowey almost forgot that he was supposed to be angry with Frisk for having anything to do with him. Almost. Then it dawned on him he’d been charmed by way of having water poured on him. He hated being a flower.

“All right, cut it out, or are you trying to drown me?”

Frisk withdrew and went over to pour the remaining water on the other golden flowers. Flowey watched from a distance, suspicious. After they finished watering the flowers, Frisk patted the ground next to them, right in a patch of sunlight separate from the flower patch.

“Don’t patronize me,” he made a face at them, but they were unfazed.

Flowey refused to go into the sun until Frisk was long gone, and even then he told himself it was his idea.

After some time, Flowey didn’t bother to keep the annoyance out of his voice anymore when he greeted Frisk with a grumpy “howdy”.

“Good gosh, don’t you know when to quit?”

The two never had conversations, per se, it was more Flowey talking at Frisk in an attempt to incite a reaction out of them. When he told them about how much he relished thoughts of his own demise so he could finally disappear without having to fear them resetting, he liked to imagine he saw sadness in their face.

It gave him a sort of hateful glee, or at least what he thinks it used to feel like, so he kept doing it. Something so petty didn’t make up for what he really wanted, though. After all, even recovering his health only brought vexation. Flowey missed being stuffed to the brim with squirmy, emotional souls; he missed being big, he missed having power. He had no possibility of that happening ever again.

And so, he posed his solution to Frisk one day.

“Just kill me already,” Flowey said, slipping easily into the coaxing, sickly-sweet voice he’d practiced so long.

Frisk flinched and almost dropped the watering can on top of him but recovered it, narrowly aborting crushing him to bits. Hell. Missed opportunity.

“Come on, you know you want to. Golly, you could play a game of ‘Loves Me, Loves Me Not’ or--oh, I know, this is perfect, you should make some tea out of me. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

The only responses Frisk seemed to be able to muster up were pity and horribly frustrating compassion, and that made him even angrier. Flowey’s irritation dribbled into his voice.

“Humans use flowers for the same things as monsters, right? Decoration, declarations of love, all that crap. I could be useful.” All too quickly being continuously ignored caused his tone to slip into something even darker. “Stop being an idiot for once.”

Frisk stayed silent and shook their head.

Flowey snapped into his more aggressive self in a millisecond. All of the determination he had poured into keeping himself alive so long took a 180, directed entirely at the thought of his worthless body and his less than worthless self gone forever.

“Why are you so weak? You stupid, stupid idiot!”

He bared fangs at them, hissed, jeered; again the thought of attacking them surfaced in his mind. Anything to goad them to fight. Anything to get them to stop sparing him.

If they really pitied Flowey, after all, they would show him mercy in the way he wanted. That would be his best ending.


End file.
